"Mr. Clay! Wait!"

Mr. Clay looked back from where he sat on his horse. Winter trudged toward him, made slow by the mud formed by the rainstorm that had sickened Cress. She could tell her hair was out of place, and her gown might never recover from the mistreatment, but she didn't care.

"Lady Winter," said Mr. Clay, surprised.

"You wanted to speak with me," she said, out of breath. "My stepmother did not want you to, but I do. And it's about time I did what I wanted."

He raised a pale eyebrow, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Winter stepped back as he dismounted his horse and turned to face her again. His face grew serious.

"I came to tell you that I'm leaving," he said.

Winter's heart dropped. So soon? His regiment had only just arrived. She thought surely they'd have weeks, even months together before being parted again.

"…The regiment is remaining here," he continued, as if reading her mind. "I leave on a personal errand. I must return to London, for my father is very ill. So ill, in fact, that we fear he is near death."

She saw the twitch in his cheek as he said it, the bittersweet attempt at comforting her when it was he that should be comforted. The news was a shock for Winter; when they'd last spoken of Mr. Clay's father, there had been no mention of any health problems at all. To be suddenly on the verge of death…the news must have been unbearable for him to receive.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I know what he means to you."

Mr. Clay nodded, coughed, and nodded again. Seeing him like this when usually he remained so stoic broke Winter's heart. She knew what it felt like to lose a father. The pain could barely be put into words.

"I…I wish I could go with you." She tried to keep her voice steady, to imbue it with strength and calm to buoy him up. "If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all—"

"Actually," he cut in, "there is something."

"Anything. I mean it. Say the word."

Mr. Clay took in a shaky breath, holding her eyes with his. She saw so much that she loved in those icy blue irises: strength, honor, loyalty. Also there she saw sorrow, confusion, and a pressing anxiety for the days ahead. Deep within, she thought perhaps she saw something else. Affection. Love. For her?

"Lady Winter," he said. "When I first met you, surrounded by your friends at a table at the Kinney's inn, I never imagined you a person I could become acquainted with. You were the daughter of a baron, beautiful and admired amongst everyone in the town I'd just been stationed in. In my pride and jealousy, I thought you vain, frivolous, no different from a hundred other women I'd seen during my travels. And then you called out to me. Do you remember what you said?"

Winter smiled shyly, a light blush warming her cheeks. "I don't think I want to."

"You said, 'Excuse me, soldier. Might I inquire what makes you look thus upon a room full of merry townspeople? Your eyes would be beautiful if they weren't so cold.'"

She put her hands to her cheeks. "I didn't! I can be so impudent sometimes. Oh, how I wish I knew when to hold my tongue."

"On the contrary," Mr. Clay said warmly, "I am glad beyond words that you didn't. From that time forward, I couldn't seem to rid myself of you. I'd see you on the wooded paths, delivering baskets to the orphanage. We'd run into each other at balls and parties, and each time you charmed me despite my greatest efforts. I began to fall in love with you."

Mr. Clay had never spoken so plainly of his feelings, and the confession made Winter breathe in sharply. I began to fall in love with you… She clutched her hands together, desperate to speak and make her own feelings known, but also convinced that if she interrupted him he might never finish what he was saying. And she felt it was something she very much wanted to hear.

"I know I hurt you when I told you we couldn't see each other anymore." Mr. Clay looked away from her, face drawn. "I felt at the time it was the right thing to do. I knew I was not right for you—in no world could I ever provide for you what you needed, what you deserved—and though it nearly killed me to leave you, I thought it would all be for the best. That you would move on, marry, live a life without me."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "But then I returned last week. And there you were, the same as ever, and everything came flooding back. At least for me."

She couldn't stop herself from speaking up. "And for me, too. Everything, every feeling. It has not changed."

Mr. Clay looked both tortured and immensely hopeful at her words. He moved a step closer, one hand raised halfway to her face, though never bridging the distance.

"Winter," he said, his voice cracking.

"Y—yes?"

He paused. Then he spoke quickly: "I know I'm not good enough, nor will I ever be. My family is poor, and I would have to work all our lives to support us. Our home would be modest, and our society would not be at the level you are used to. Everything would change for you, and I feel ashamed to even ask it of you."

With every word, Winter's heart floated further and further into her throat. She stepped forward, for once completely at a loss for words. Mr. Clay clasped her right hand between his, almost desperately. His hands were warm and rough.

"Winter," he said. "Lady Winter. I love you. I have loved you for nearly as long as I've known you. Is there a world where you would accept my offer of marriage and become my wife?"

It did not feel real; it must have been a dream. Yet his hands felt as corporeal as the mud beneath her feet, and the words that he spoke still echoed in her head. He loved her. He loved her, and he wanted to marry her. The happiness that flooded her at the thought could barely be contained by her physical form.

"Of course," she gasped. "Of course I will marry you."

His smile, so dear and rare, was the essence of joy to Winter. She let out a laugh that may have been half-sob, so overcome with emotion that, if asked, she would have been unable to distinguish her head from her toes. Mr. Clay stepped closer still, pulling her hands against his chest, hesitant but determined, and bowed his head till their lips were nearly touching.

Winter was the one who closed the gap. She went up on tip-toes and their mouths met in a kiss, their hands still clasped between their bodies. Winter felt terrified and giddy and passionate all at once, and it was far too soon when Mr. Clay put space once again between them. He still had not released her hands.

"You make me…so happy," he said softly.

"It is the same for me," she said, unable to stop smiling. "The walls of the tallest castle could not contain my love for you at this moment."

He squeezed her hands and finally let them ago, not taking his eyes off hers.

"I must go now," he said. "It's a long way to London. But knowing that you are here, my future wife, will make every moment seem sweeter and shorter."

"Please be safe." She wished they could kiss again, could hold each other for hours and talk about their future together. Together. She felt certain she could tackle any obstacle, climb any mountain, as long as she knew that she and her Mr. Clay would face them together.

He nodded. "Until we meet again."

With that, he climbed onto his horse. After one last look at her, he dug his heels in and the horse trotted forward into the brush, disappearing in the thick foliage after only a few moments.

"Goodbye," Winter whispered.

EDIT: This story is on hiatus because of developments in my professional writing life (good ones, I promise!). I want to be able to commit to finishing this story well, so I'm not going to rush out a few lame chapters to get it off my plate. I promise, I WILL come back to this and give everyone their happily ever afters. For now, just click "Follow" so you'll know exactly when the hiatus is over. And thank you so much for reading! Please review if you like what you've read so far. It's so motivating.